


Twisted

by sterica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterica/pseuds/sterica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Right foot, blue!” Allison calls out. Derek groans, raising an eyebrow slightly as Stiles’ butt hits his face. He’s really beginning to regret condoning this so called ‘Pack Games Night’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted

Derek really doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. It started as a joking suggestion from Stiles, after he mentioned how his most memorable fight with Scott was over a game of Monopoly.

“He wouldn’t speak to me for a week after.” Stiles crowed. 

Scott looked at him indignantly. “You cheated!”

“I would never!”Stiles said. “Imagine a Pack Games Night. Someone would end up dead.” 

He can’t quite begin to fathom how imagining one of the pack being killed over competitiveness turned into everyone agreeing that they should have a games night with the whole pack, or why he’s currently staring at two twister mats laid out on the carpet and Allison managing to make holding the spinner look terrifying. 

To be honest, he thought that maybe the pack would grow up over time. Scott and Allison are married with a baby on the way and the whole pack still act like a bunch of teenagers, with Derek as their grouchy guardian. The whole ‘grouchy guardian’ thing is a joke from Stiles that Derek has never managed to quite forget. 

“Okay, you know the rules.” Allison says, taking pride of place on an armchair, having decided that, seeing as she’s six months pregnant, she probably shouldn’t be playing Twister. “No claws, no wolfing out. Nothing supernatural, or Stiles will sulk for a month afterwards.”

Stiles opens his mouth as if to argue but a look from Scott silences him. Derek watches as Stiles closes his mouth and laughs to himself. He stops abruptly a few seconds later when he finds himself sharing a mat with Stiles, Lydia and Isaac and watching Jackson and Scott bicker about being placed on the same matt while Erica looks as Boyd smugly. Great. Another chance for the couple to get a little too close in public. He doesn’t know which is worse: Scott and Allison being sickeningly sweet or Erica and Boyd making sickeningly obvious when they’ve had sex, are going to, or currently are. 

The game starts out easily enough, groans sounding out every few moves when Allison calls out a combination that has to be impossible for someone, but every time no one falls down. It probably has something to do with werewolf reflexes, Lydia’s sense of balance and then sheer luck holding Stiles up. Derek says as much, earning himself a disgruntled look from the latter. 

“I’m not that clumsy!” he exclaims. “Just because I’m not all werewolf-y like you guys. You’re not even supposed to use your powers.” 

Isaac leans over his shoulder to look at Stiles, almost slipping out of position but saving himself at the last moment. “We can’t exactly turn them off.”

Stiles leans forwards slightly to elbow Isaac, who narrowly escapes falling down, again. “I didn’t ask you.” he says. 

“Right foot, blue!” Allison calls out. Derek groans, raising an eyebrow slightly as Stiles’ butt hits his face. He’s really beginning to regret condoning this so called ‘Pack Games Night’. He manages to angle his head slightly so that his head is no longer brushing against Stiles, or any part of his body. 

“Sorry dude!” Stiles yells to him. Derek chooses to ignore him. 

It takes Allison calling out “Left hand, yellow!” for Scott and Jackson to somehow entwine themselves and then push each other to the floor, Boyd and Erica somehow surviving, probably due to the fact that they don’t fight against each other like the other two and depend on each other to stay up. The boys — or, men, Derek supposes he should call them now, even if they don’t exactly act like it — take a seat on the sofa, both of them sitting as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting dirty looks at one another. 

A few moves later, Boyd and Erica are out, but neither of them seem too unhappy as Erica drags her fiancé out of the room, to catcalls from Lydia and Isaac. Derek tries to ignore them and hopes they won’t damage his house as much as the incident of the previous year that he never wants to think about again. Ever. 

Play continues, Derek’s hands beginning to sweat against the plastic mat. He’s fought against werewolves, kanimas, practically every mythical creature out there and he can’t handle a game of Twister. He’s currently on top of Stiles, leaning over him to reach a green spot with his left hand. Stiles is unsteady beneath him and Derek knows that just with a little bit of force he could knock Stiles out of the game. He’s not quite that desperate yet. 

Apparently, though, Lydia is. She slips forwards a little, sending Derek crashing down and causing him to land on top of Stiles, whilst she stays in her position before yelling a victory cry and getting onto her feet. 

“Foul play, foul play!” Stiles wheezes out from underneath Derek. “Banshee attack!” 

Derek rolls off Stiles but doesn’t bother to get up, instead electing to simply glare up at Lydia, who smiles down at them. “I deny everything.” she says in her sweetest voice, moving over to cuddle up to Jackson and smiling as Allison laughs and proclaims her the winner. 

Derek notices that, although he’s not actually on top of Stiles anymore, they’re still quite close, his hand going numb underneath Stiles’ leg. His feet are getting pins and needles but he doesn’t quite want to move yet. 

Erica and Boyd choose this point to re-enter the room, Boyd running his fingers through Erica’s tousled hair and Erica repositioning her clothes. Erica gives Boyd a look as she notices Stiles and Derek on the floor next to each other. 

“What’s happened here?” Boyd says. 

Lydia pats the couch, indicating for the couple to join them. “I won.” 

“I demand a rematch.” Stiles says, standing up, his hand brushing against Derek’s slightly as he does so, a tingle running through Derek at the feeling. 

Derek stands up after him. “Me too.” he says. 

“I bet you do.” Erica smirks. “Oops, I fell and touched your _whole body_.” 

The pack snigger among themselves as Derek stares at Stiles awkwardly, noting that Stiles is the first to look away. He’s not a sixteen year old virgin, but if he were, he’s pretty sure his internal commentary would be yelling ‘score!’ right about now. But he’s actually not, so he clears his throat and tries to bring the attention to something different. 

“Next game?”

. 

Two and a half hours later, surrounded by a discarded pile of a hat, gloves, scarf, cutlery and a half-eaten bar of chocolate, one upturned monopoly board and the remains of Jackson tricking Scott into playing ‘Fifty Two Card Pick Up’, the pack are all curled up together. Derek still hasn’t figured out how they all manage to fit so perfectly and still remain within the respective couples within the group; Scott entwined around Allison, even more protective of her since she got pregnant, his leg resting on Stiles who somehow ends up leaning on Derek’s side, (which could never be a complaint) Lydia leaning on the both of them and her head in Jackson’s lap, who is on top of Danny (who arrived halfway through a fight over whether or not Isaac had been cheating in Monopoly and defended his honour), who rests on Isaac, leaving Erica and Boyd in the corner of the sofa, both of their hands resting on Erica’s engagement ring. 

Most pack meetings seem to end like this and Derek has grown to love it over the years. He knows they’re there for him, and vice versa. He still feels a pang of guilt when he looks back at his family and the fire, but knows that the pack are his family now. And he does complain endlessly about how childish they are, and how it’s really weird that Stiles still owns a play-lightsaber and has text wars with Scott about who hates-slash-loves the other the most. It’s kind of like the world’s most incestuous family, seeing as almost everyone there is either in a relationship with a pack member or has a serious crush on another. 

Not that Derek falls into either one of those categories. He certainly doesn’t think about how, along with Stiles, he seems to be the only one that isn’t really in a relationship (Isaac and Danny think they’re being subtle, but they really, really aren’t.) 

He wakes sometime in the early hours of the morning and spends several minutes debating with himself whether or not to try and get up. Eventually, he decides that he really needs to pee and he could do with something to eat, so he extracts himself from the middle of the pack and hopes that he doesn’t wake anyone up along the way. On the way out, he can’t quite help but take a picture, knowing that Stiles or someone would scold him for not doing it if he had the chance. 

Stiles comes up behind him in the kitchen when Derek’s pouring himself a glass of water. “Couldn’t sleep?” he says. Derek can feel Stiles warm breath on his neck and tries to pretend that his thoughts aren’t currently completely twisted around Stiles. 

Derek would jump, but he’s kind of used to things and people coming up behind him after a few years. “Just woke up.” he said. “I was overheating a bit.” He always makes excuses for getting up in the middle of the night, but the truth is that he just doesn’t seem able to sleep all the way through the night. It’s never really bothered him — he just sleeps when he can and it seems to be enough. 

“I still don’t get how we all fit on that sofa.” Stiles muses, perching on the edge of a chair. 

Derek nods in acknowledgement. “Want a drink?” he asks, holding up his glass of water. He doesn’t really understand why he’s doing that as he’s pretty sure that Stiles knows that water is a drink, but it’s four in the morning and he’s not required to be at his best brain capacity right now. 

“Water would be good.” Stiles mutters, Derek handing him the already-poured glass and getting another for himself. 

It occurs to Derek that Stiles isn’t exactly at top brain capacity either. Maybe it’s the faded moonlight seeping through the window but Derek takes a moment to just look at Stiles. It’s not like he’s never looked before, or never found him attractive, but maybe there’s just something about drinking cold water from a tap at four am with the cute boy you’ve known for years now and never really said anything that really means anything to that makes everything a bit clearer. 

“What?” Stiles says, noticing Derek staring at him. His hands fly to his cheeks. “Did Scott draw a dick on my face again? Oh my God, I’m going to— “ he stops talking as Derek steps closer. 

“No, I just…” Derek doesn’t know what he can say without sounding like a total creep. “I just…” he tries again. He’s never had a way with words, exactly, but this is probably the worst he’s been in a while. 

Before he can say anything else, Stiles’ lips are on his, gently at first, as though asking ‘is this okay?’, before Derek kisses him back (god yes, it’s okay) and the tempo changes, faster, needier. Stiles’ lips part before Derek can even think to do the same and he’s gripping Stiles’ hair, wondering why they didn’t think to do this sooner as he somehow manoeuvres Stiles out of his chair and gets him up against the fridge. 

“I always knew you’d be the slamming kind of kisser.” Stiles breaks away to say, before pulling Derek in closer, hands on his fucking _waist_ and it shouldn’t be that much of a turn on but it is. 

“You’ve thought about this?” Derek breathes, snatching some air whilst he can still breathe, thinking about how hot it is that Stiles has thought about this before, knowing that if he’s thought about them making out he’s almost definitely thought about them fucking. 

Stiles eyes him up. “You haven’t?”

“Is that even a question?” Derek says, hands twisting further into Stiles’ hair, drawing out noises from Stiles that he can’t quite believe he’s causing. Stiles is moaning into his mouth and if Derek is honest, he’s not doing much better, but by Stiles’ reaction he’d wager that it’s okay. Around Stiles, every sensation seems heightened, every kiss feels like sunlight or magic or something unbelievably soppy that Derek never would be able to put into words. 

He feels his dick start to harden in his jeans and pressing against Stiles he feels the same. Kissing the boy — the man? — frantically, he begins to rut against him, Stiles catching on and doing the same, their hips moving together like they’ve been doing it for years. 

“I want you so much.” Stiles whispers in his ear. “Everyone else is fucking married or engaged or— “

“Just fucking?” Derek asks playfully, just before his lips move down to Stiles’ neck and sucks, nipping at his tender skin, making sure that he marks Stiles so everyone knows. 

“Yeah.” Stiles says, moaning at Derek’s lips. “Sometimes I saw you staring at me. I thought I was making it all up.” 

Derek realises that they probably shouldn’t be dry humping up against the fridge, especially when the rest of the pack are literally in the next room, but he can’t bring himself to care. Besides, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t even a little bit of a turn on, knowing that neither of them care enough to stop. He unbuttons Stiles’ pants first, sliding them down with his boxers and not even making it secret how much he wants to look at Stiles. He doesn’t stop there, pulling Stiles’ shirt over his head and making no secret of staring at him, taking in everything he sees. 

“No fair.” Stiles whines. “I feel like you’re not showing enough skin.”

Derek complies and practically tears off his shirt then eases down his jeans and boxers, roughly palming himself as he does so and watching Stiles do the same. 

“ _Godyou’resofuckinghot_.” Stiles says in one breath, causing Derek to chuckle slightly. Derek reaches for Stiles hands and pins them over his head, holding them tight enough to bruise. He knocks down a few fridge magnets along the way, along with postcards from Scott and Allison’s honeymoon but he doesn’t stop to think about it, simply takes in Stiles’ breathless gasps and his own moans as he moves against Stiles, so caught up in _StilesStilesStiles_ that nothing else matters. 

“Always wanted you like this.” he manages to get out. “You can’t touch yourself. Only me.” He doesn’t give a shit that it sounds like a line from a bad porno; from the look on Stiles’ face, it was definitely the right thing to say. He doesn’t even know how many times he’s thought about this. _You’re mine_ , he thinks, but doesn’t dare say it, not yet. 

“Only you.” Stiles echos, not even struggling slightly against Derek, pinned down completely. Derek knows Stiles couldn’t move if he wanted to and he can see that Stiles definitely does not want to. 

He keeps moving against Stiles, no fabric in between the pair now, skin on skin, sliding up against each other and he can hardly hold on for any longer when Stiles alerts him to the fact that neither can he. Stiles comes a few seconds before him, Derek following in a burst of pleasure, breathless as he keeps holding onto Stiles’ wrists for dear life, gasping for air, saying Stiles’ name like a prayer, over and over until it ends and he can stand on his own again. 

“God.” Derek says, lowering Stiles’ hands, reluctantly letting go of them. 

“Not quite, but pretty close.” Stiles jokes. 

Derek groans. “If we’re together, am I gonna have to put up with your bad jokes?”

“Definitely.” Stiles says. “And if you take back that whole ‘being together’ thing I swear to—”

“I won’t.” Derek says. How could he give up the opportunity to have Stiles as his boyfriend? The word is so overwhelming but so amazing at the same time. He can hardly believe it. But he supposes it makes it a bit easier to believe seeing Stiles’ pants hanging round his ankles. 

They clear themselves up as best as they can with the supplies in the kitchen — they both agree that they’re simply too lazy to have a shower before going back to sleep. 

“Should we sleep upstairs?” Derek asks, more of a ‘please God say yes’ than a question. 

Stiles smiles brightly. “Uh, yeah. Can we just grab my phone? I left it on the sofa.”

The two of them creep into the lounge, only wearing their boxers, holding hands but remaining silent. 

“Oh my God.” they hear Lydia say. 

The whole pack is sitting up on the sofa, all of them wearing shocked faces, except for the girls, Danny and Isaac, who seem positively delighted. Even Boyd who is usually so unfazed looks completely shocked.

“I knew it!” Erica squealed. “You owe me fifty bucks.” she tells Boyd.

“ _Dude_.” Scott says, looking absolutely terrified. “I’m really happy for you, but kitchen sex?” 

“Like you’ve never done that.” Stiles scoffs. Seeing Scott turn bright red and turn to Allison who giggles slightly, he looks grossed out. “Actually, I really don’t want to know.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “To be fair, neither did we. You didn’t really give us a choice.” 

Stiles goes bright red. Derek doesn’t really have enough shame to go bright red, but he won’t deny that it’s embarrassing. Stiles leans over and whispers in his ear: “Ham it up.”

“You gonna get your phone, babe?” Derek says, Stiles grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll be upstairs…” he lingers on the pause for a moment. “Waiting.”

“Who needs Fifty Shades of Grey when you’ve got these two?” Isaac says dryly. 

“Fifty Shades of _Gay_.” Danny says, to which Derek scuttles out of the room and Stiles dives for his phone, quickly following in his wake. 

When Stiles joins Derek upstairs, he’s slightly red but grinning from ear to ear. “On second thoughts, I think I could use that shower.” he says, cheeks red. 

“You mean?” Derek can’t quite finish the sentence. 

Stiles runs to the bathroom. “Hurry up!” he calls through the door. “I won’t wait for you.”

And Derek is in the bathroom in two seconds flat. He joins Stiles in the shower, finding him already under the water, the glass partition steamed up and presses Stiles again, kissing him more slowly this time, deliberately, claiming him as Derek’s. 

When he wakes in the morning, curled protectively around Stiles, feeling their breathing completely in sync, he smiles. The light washes through the window and can’t help but think that maybe Pack Games Night wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> erica saying 'oops i fell and touched your whole body' is a reference to a post on tumblr and i take no credit. (also i'm pretty sure a million people said 'fifty shades of gay' before i put it in this fic so i take no credit for that either)
> 
> i don't think i'm capable of writing a sterek fic which doesn't involve stiles and derek falling on top of each other, uh. hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
